“This is depressing.”
Darius laughed weakly.
“Thank you.”
“You want help throwing it out?”
“Not tonight.”
“What do you want?”
Darius looked around.
“I want Saturday morning back.”
Nia said nothing.
He picked up one invitation.
Pearl.
Or ivory.
Or white.
He still couldn’t tell.
“I was arguing with her about paper.”
Nia leaned against him.
“You didn’t know.”
“That’s what bothers me.”
“What?”
“I was happy.”
His voice cracked.
“I was completely happy.”
Nia looked at her brother.
“There’s nothing shameful about not knowing someone was lying.”
“It feels stupid.”
“It isn’t.”
“I was sitting there planning my wedding while another man was asking whether I had left.”
Nia took the invitation from him.
“You trusted your fiancée.”
“Yes.”
“That’s what people are supposed to do.”
Darius looked at her.
“The shame belongs to the person who exploited it.”
For weeks, Darius existed in practical mode.
Cancel photographer.
Cancel venue.
Cancel caterer.
Cancel hotel block.
Cancel honeymoon.
Call relatives.
Return gifts that had already arrived.
Every cancellation required a small version of the same humiliating conversation.
“Yes, the wedding is canceled.”
“No, we are not rescheduling.”
“No, there is no new date.”
“Yes, please refund whatever is refundable.”
Some people asked why.
Darius stopped answering.
Simone told her family herself.
Her mother called him.
“Darius, I am so sorry.”
He sat silently in his truck outside work.
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“I raised her better.”
“This isn’t your fault.”
“She loves you.”
Darius closed his eyes.
“I know.”
The answer surprised Simone’s mother.
He continued.
“That’s what makes it sad.”
Three weeks later, Simone emailed him.
Not texted.
Emailed.
The subject line read:
I owe you the truth without asking for anything back.
Darius waited two days before opening it.
The message was long.
Simone described the first time she met Devon.
The first conversation that crossed a line.
The first hidden message.
The first lie.
She admitted that every time she crossed another boundary, the next one became easier.
At first, she deleted messages.
Then she saved his number under Pizza Hut.
Then she removed her engagement ring during meetings.
Then she kissed him.
Then she told herself the relationship with Darius was already failing.
Then she told Devon that version too.
Finally, she began believing pieces of her own story.
One paragraph made Darius stop.
The ugliest truth is that you were not a terrible partner. You were not perfect, but I needed you to become worse in my story because otherwise I had to admit what I was doing to a good man. Every time Devon questioned the affair, I gave him another reason you and I were supposedly already over. Eventually I had described a relationship that barely resembled ours.
Darius reread it.
Then another paragraph.
I saved him as Pizza Hut because I knew you trusted me enough not to inspect my phone. I took something good about you and used it against you. I understand why that may be the hardest part to forgive.
Darius closed the laptop.
He did not finish the letter until the next morning.
The ending contained no request for reconciliation.
I am not asking you to take me back. I am starting therapy because I don’t want to become the kind of person who can keep doing this and then blame everyone around her. I hope one day you remember our years together without feeling that every good memory was fake. They weren’t fake for me, even though I understand why they may feel that way to you now.
Darius did not respond.
Not then.
He began therapy too.
At first, he hated it.
The therapist, Dr. Aaron Bell, asked questions Darius considered annoying.
“What are you most angry about?”
“The cheating.”
“That’s what happened. What are you angry about?”
Darius frowned.
“That is what I’m angry about.”
“Are you angrier that she wanted someone else, or that she deceived you?”
Darius thought.
“The lying.”